by Ana Calin
Standing face to face with him, I sense his motives in my heart as if I were a mirror of his pain. We reflect each other. This beautiful young man that had hundreds of women drool over him for entire centuries thinks himself worthless.
“You’re bleeding,” I say.
“For you,” he whispers.
I don’t answer, tears flowing down my face.
“Karma’s a bitch. I hurt you five years ago, I might as well have driven a dagger through your heart. Now all that you feel for me is pity.” He snorts bitterly. “And maybe some sexual attraction, if I turn you on hard enough.”
I want to cry out that I feel totally different from what he thinks, but I can’t, I just stare at him.
He starts walking to me as if he can’t contain himself anymore. His eyes glint electric blue, red-rimmed and wild. He shows me one of the wounds under his rolled-up sleeve as he speaks.
“I used a corkscrew to inflict this. You know why? Because, while you were lying in this bed trying to cope with all the pain that’s attacked you like an army of bats at the orphanage, I couldn’t stop thinking about fucking you. I would have come here and done it to you while you slept, just to release the need that wells in here like a disease.” He beats his chest, coming to a stop inches from me. I can feel the danger coming from him, I try to back up, but he grabs my waist and pulls me close. His body is steely under the shirt, and his cock already hard.
“It’s enough to see you, and I get a boner.” He grabs my ass to press me even closer. “Hell, it’s enough to think about you. I want you so badly that it hurts, and I have to balance it with physical pain. We should have gone to see the dead Nazi’s family days ago, every second matters, you know. You couldn’t because you needed time to recover from the blow you took in there, but what was my excuse? I’ll tell you what it was. I couldn’t focus on the mission no matter how hard I tried, the only thing I could think about was you.
“I’m despicable, Juliet, wanting to get naked with you while you struggled with the pain of gassed children. But I can’t control it and, believe me, I tried.” He looks into my eyes so intensely that icy fear runs through me. Emotionally connected to him, I know exactly what he’s capable of.
“I can’t take this anymore,” he says, breaking. “I know I said you were the boss, but I can’t handle the need anymore.”
He crushes my mouth against his carnal lips, opening and pushing his tongue inside. He keeps a strong hold on my waist at the same time and, when I try to pull back for some air, he leans after me, plunging deeper into the kiss.
He walks with me backwards until my back hits the wall, forcing me into a position in which I can’t resist his kisses at all. There’s nowhere I can retreat to, and I have no choice but to surrender to his passion.
His hands touch my face, smearing blood on my cheek as he caresses me.
“My feelings for you gave me the Borderline syndrome,” he says against my mouth, his body pressing hot against mine, only his shirt and my satin nightgown between us. His words, his body, everything about this right here makes me burn. I take his face in my hands.
“I want you,” I whisper against those beautiful red lips. “Kiss me hard.”
He kisses me with lust, pushing me up the wall, stretching my arms above my head and keeping them there. He pushes his cock against my mound through the satin gown, moaning in my mouth.
“Ask anything of me,” he says, his face flustered. “I will do anything you ask, just let me have you once as I please. Let me do to you the things that I crave so much.” His eyes move wildly over my face.
I let my body become soft against his, my hands no longer offering resistance against his hold.
“Do anything you want with me,” I invite softly. “But if I tell you to stop, then you’ll have to—”
“Yes, of course.”
He takes just one step away from me. I want to let my arms come down as well, but then an invisible power pins me to the wall. It’s the power of the Prince of Midnight, immobilizing me the way he used to years ago, before I healed him of the monster.
Hands above my head like a prisoner’s and feet slightly apart, I’m exposed to his will. He looks at me as if he could eat me alive, luxuriating in the sight of his prey. He traces the shape of my face with his fingers, his lips parted as if he’s bewitched. He kisses me, deeply, sweetly, then his lips trace my neck down to my chest.
He breathes hard when he reaches my chest, hooking his fingers into the rim of the satin gown, and freeing my breasts. He moans, kissing them full of lust, his hands sinking greedily under the gown and grabbing my thighs.
“I can’t, I’m going to explode,” he says breathlessly, tearing himself from me only to undo his fly, his erection springing free. He doesn’t wait another moment to grab my thighs again, lifting me up and pushing his legs under mine, his cock finding my entrance.
He pushes inside of me, enjoying every inch as he goes in to the hilt. Just like he used to in our golden times five years ago, he takes me while looking into my eyes, unblinking, wanting to catch every little sign of my pleasure, and expressing his.
I can feel he’s close to coming when he picks me up and falls with me on the bed, me sinking in the soft waves of the mattress, Radek on top of me, thrusting like a mad man, red-rimmed eyes set hungrily on me.
“Have you gotten on birth control since we started this?” he says.
“No.”
He pulls out, slides between my outer folds and comes on my lower belly, growling, and cupping my face hard with one hand.
“I’d kill for you woman. I’d kill for you.”
I come hard, his words touching something inside of me that I never even knew was there. This is it, this is how I always wanted to be loved.
CHAPTER VIII
Juliet
Two days later, Radek and I enter the dining room together, holding hands. After our latest night of mad love, Radek came to see me every few hours to prepare what we’re doing now, and I had a strong feeling the true reason behind that was that he couldn’t be away from me for long. Still, I can’t fully trust him, not after what happened five years ago.
I have to admit one thing to myself, though, admit it fully—I love him desperately, and now that I’ve had him again, I don’t know how I could ever go back to living without him. We clearly have an emotional connection, one that runs deep, but what if he pulls the rug from under my feet again?
Lazarus and Isolde are already waiting for us. He’s leaning against the mantelpiece, while she inspects reports from her home for the elderly at the table. She puts the papers down once we step inside the room.
I take a seat, while Radek remains standing, hands on the back of my chair.
“Okay, so here’s what we got so far,” he begins. “The name of our dead Nazi turned banker was Günther Hess, first married to Norma Hess—who mysteriously died in the days of the orphanage. He then took a younger wife, Ulrike, who also died only a few months after the wedding, just as mysteriously. The first wife left behind two daughters, who also mysteriously died a few years later, having left behind daughters of their own—Günther’s granddaughters.
“These two granddaughters, Carla and Martina, seem to have been born far enough apart from the orphanage events to survive whatever went down in the mansion that killed all the other women.
“Carla and Martina moved away at a young age, anyway. They led their lives far from the mansion with their respective fathers and, later, with their husbands. They are both childless, and very private people. They are at the mansion now, dealing with their grandfather’s legacy, and they’re willing to see us and answer some questions. So Juliet and I will pay them a visit.”
“I’ve heard something about the Nazi’s family,” Isolde says. “But the papers said they refused to give interviews to the press. How come they accepted to see you?”
“They know Juliet, CEO of the European Hellhound, from the Berlin society life, and they heard about me as well.
They’ve read about our affair in the papers, too. I think they’re as curious about us as we are about them. Which is why Juliet and I are going together, even though I wanted to spare her. You never know how much pain lurks behind those doors, so we’ll have to be prepared. Lazarus, we’ll need your help, too.”
Lazarus, who’s been leaning loosely with an arm on the mantelpiece, listening to all this interested but relaxed, straightens up.
“Wow, you’re willingly involving me?”
“I need you to back up the plan I have for Isolde.”
Lazarus blabbers a little, pleasantly surprised, then says, “All right.”
“What plan?” Isolde inquires, failing to conceal her excitement.
“You will have a very special mission,” Radek tells her with a smile, using a tone that I like. I can tell he has warm feelings about her, like an older brother or even a father. I actually asked him yesterday if he would have done with her what he did to me, had she been in my place at the castle five years ago. He said she would not have been there at all, because he would not have decided to buy her over from Herald Gruff. He had special interest in me, not just any white-blonde.
“As you know,” Radek continues, “my brother Dracula has spies among my people. Because they cannot keep an eye on me, since I’m a master of dimensions and can travel through them, provided there’s water, blood or mirrors around, they keep an eye on people they know are of interest to me—Juliet being top of the list.
“So, Isolde, if we want to pull this through properly, you will have to leave this villa today and head to the European Hellhound. Thanks to your hair and body shape, you can easily be mistaken for Juliet from afar. That way everybody will think that Juliet is there.”
“But the people at the e-zine would recognize her,” I put in. “They’ll see her up close.”
“Not if she wears a large hat with the rim over half her face.”
I laugh. “They would strive for a closer look at her harder than they ever did for me in all these years. I’d never walk into the Hellhound looking like that, and they know it.”
“You would if you had a black eye. She can call out from the door no one is to look at her, she got into a chick fight and doesn’t want to be seen. Given the story about you, me and Irina, it’ll be credible.”
“But Ellis—” Lazarus says.
“Don’t worry about her,” I offer. “I had her derail Herald Gruff, she won’t even be there.” I smile, feeling dangerous and liking it.
“Oh, tell us about that,” Isolde encourages eagerly.
“You’ll find out all about it soon enough.” Then, slapping my hands on my thighs. “So, Isolde, what do you say? Will you go in my place to the Hellhound?”
“Of course,” she squeals, jumping from her seat. She’s clearly happy to be part of this. “I happen to have just the hat.”
“All right then,” Lazarus adds, preparing to leave the room.
“Wait,” I say, and both Lazarus and Isolde stop in their tracks. I look from them to Radek.
“I felt The One very clearly at the orphanage,” I begin, my tone grave. “I sensed her pain, her rage, and I sensed her power. Because of all the terrible things she’d been exposed to since a very young age, she became—” I bite my lower lip, weighing the word ‘evil’. “The One wasn’t a good person when she left the orphanage, not anymore. She killed her way out of the gas chamber and she was—probably still is—dangerous. She could make things move with the power of her mind, and she could manipulate the shape of silver. I dare say this—At the point when she left the orphanage, The One was a demon in flesh form. If she senses we’re on her trail, she could become dangerous.” I look at Lazarus and Isolde. “To all of us. So be careful.”
Juliet
ONCE AT THE HESSES’ door, my palms go sweaty with anxiety. The villa is huge, rising like a gothic monster from a thicker part of the Green Forest. Hidden behind trees and shrubbery by a small pond, it looks shabbier than all the others in this area, but it’s also conveniently set apart.
Even the bell inside sounds husky, as if it hasn’t been used in years. The door opens to a thin and haggard woman that reminds me a bit of Miss Victoria, only that she’s meeker. She gives a weak smile when she recognizes me, opening the door a little wider to let us in, but still not enough to make us feel welcome.
“Miss Jochs, it’s an honor to have you here,” she says in a small voice that fits the rest of her. I take the hand she offers me, reluctantly because of how wet my palm is, but the woman doesn’t seem to register that. Her hand is slim, bony, the skin more wrinkled than her face. I take it she’s done a lot of manual labor in her life, which means she had to, and now she’s looking forward to her share of her grandfather’s legacy. Radek and I give each other a meaningful glance.
“I’m Carla Lydike-Hess,” she introduces herself, showing to the drawing room. “My cousin Martina is still in the kitchen, she’ll bring tea in a moment.”
“Juliet Jochs,” I say unnecessarily. I step aside to allow Radek to offer his hand. “This is Prince Radek Basarab from the Carpathians.”
Carla’s eyes widen at him, her mouth opens and closes, then opens again. Witnessing Radek’s effect on people is amazing every time. His beauty renders them speechless for moments. She babbles something, failing to form the words properly, but he helps in a good-meaning tone.
“Happy to meet you, Mrs. Lydike-Hess,” he says. He doesn’t repeat his own name.
We step into the draughty but spacious drawing room, Carla showing us to a dusty old couch that must date as far back as the orphanage. The low coffee table in front of it seems newer, though. The room is semi-dark despite the curtains that have been completely pulled aside, but the large trees in front of the floor-to-ceiling glass doors that show to the terrace provide a lot of shadow. Merely moving inside this room stirs months-old dust.
Radek and I take a seat on the couch close to each other, our thighs touching. I’m wearing one of my work outfits, dark suit consisting of fitted jacket and pencil skirt, latex pantyhose the color of skin a little darker than my own, and black leather high heels. I felt Radek’s eyes on me as I walked in front of him to the car and then from it to the door of this mansion, and I know he enjoyed what he saw. His proximity now, his strong leg under the khakis brushing against mine, makes it difficult to concentrate on what we’re here to do.
A heavy woman in a brightly colored long dress walks in with a tray of cups and a teapot, dyed blond bob and heavily freckled skin, as I notice when she crosses under the light from the ceiling. Martina Rudolph-Hess, as she introduces herself, is the younger of the two cousins, yet clearly the one with a stronger personality.
“Happy to meet you, Miss Jochs. I admire a young woman with such a strong career, I,be be be, why, me.” She hits her shin against the coffee table, almost dropping the tray. Luckily, the tray was already close enough to the table. It was Radek’s beauty that struck her dumb. After a curse she couldn’t contain—shin against edge of table—she puts on the glasses that were hanging on a string around her neck. She stares at him like he’s all made of gold.
“That’s prince Radek Basarab from the Carpathians,” her cousin Carla says, sitting straight like a girl disciplined at a boarding school, kneading her hands on her lap.
“I’ll be damned,” Martina says, then, realizing she cursed again, straightens up, whisks her dress and walks awkwardly to sit by her cousin’s side on the couch across from us, obviously self-conscious. When she speaks again, even her voice is modified, to sweeter and slower than before, like a woman’s who’s trying hard to make a good impression. “You’re much more handsome than in the papers.”
Radek smiles, looking down. “Thank you. I try to keep my face out of the press, so I make it hard on the reporters to snap pictures.”
“Look at that smile, he knows how to knock a girl’s socks off,” Martina jokes, elbowing her cousin. A careful smile quivers on Carla’s face. Martina clears her voice,
crossing her legs, and relaxing in an inviting way on the couch by the side of her stiff and uncomfortable cousin.
“Well, Prince.” She glances jealously at me, “Miss Jochs, how can we be of assistance?”
I glance at Radek, and he understands he can take over.
“I trust my people told you I’m interested in acquiring the old orphanage when they contacted you, yes?”
“They did,” Martina says, swinging her thick leg over her knee. Her cousin looks down, scratching her fingers a bit too hard now. She’s clearly stressed.
“I understand you’re offering a very good price, too, and, if it were in our power, we’d take it,” Martina says. “But my grandfather had a lot of debt, so the bank took over the orphanage upon his death. Still, one thing I don’t understand, Prince. Why would you even want to have it? The place is full of ghosts.” She rolls her eyes. “I don’t mean it’s haunted, of course, those poor wretches died and stayed dead, poor souls. They must be resting a good rest in heaven now, but all the horrors that took place in there....” Her voice trails off, but she looks steadily at us. She’s not emotional about it, I can tell, what happened in that orphanage is merely information to her, something she never felt for. Judging by Carla’s head down and increasingly hard scratching, I suspect she’s more affected by that past than her cousin. Radek looks from one woman to the other, and I sense he thinks the same thing.
“I can’t help noticing that both you and Mrs. Lydike-Hess—”
“Please, use our first names,” Martina offers sweetly, but sounds more like a matron than a seductress. She points to herself, then to her cousin. “Martina and Carla.”
Radek nods with a dashing smile. “Thank you. Well, I notice that both you and Carla kept your mothers’ last name, Hess. And your mothers kept the name before you. Is that a tradition, or....”
“Yes,” Martina says, holding her head high. I don’t think she’s aware she’s doing it. “We wanted to keep the name of our family, carry it on, you know. Our grandfather had only daughters, then the daughters had daughters, you know, who would have carried his name further if the women in this family didn’t keep it.”